Risen
by Olar74
Summary: A novelization of what I imagine to be the life of a character in the game World of Warcraft, following what would be a level 1 human named Talothin on his adventures. Word of warning, contains blood, gore, some language, the horrors of war and violence to boot.


C

Talothin shot to his feet, squinting in the bright light, his head snapping this way and that, attempting to discover its source. His eyes began to adjust and as they did he began to hack and cough, smoke filling his lings.

Smoke…the realization hit him like a bucket of cold water. Something was on fire! He dashed out of his small house to see that the whole field burned, giving off the strange smell of smoke and burned grapes.

"No…" Talothin mouth was dry as he beheld the sight. His entire life hinged on the work he did for the Osworths. Now, that work blazed merrily before him. He stood, dumbstruck at the sight of his life up in smoke, and so was slow to react to the sound of heavy thumping that was approaching from the right. He dazedly turned in that direction to see a black mass moving quickly through the smoke at him. Talothin was puzzled for a slow moment, and then, the mass let out a hoarse roar.

That roar snapped him out of stupefaction. He turned and began to run in the opposite direction, towards the river that ran through the valley. Though he knew the creature's stride was longer than his own, the heavy clanking and grunting told him it was weighed down by thick plate armor.

He made the river and saw more creatures on its other bank, engaged in furious battle with men and women clad in shining silver plate. Talothin launched himself into the river, which was merely waist deep, and kept trying to slosh his way through, as quickly as he could. However, as he did, he became abruptly aware of the toll the pace had taken on his legs. They burned and ached furiously, and he had to fight to keep his speed.

He heard a much larger splash behind him as he made the middle of the waterway, and the heavy grunting and growling was enough to tell him that the orc was not slowing down. This did much to persuade his legs to continue, despite the now searing pain the effort caused.

He scrambled on to the opposite bank, his legs giving out under him as he did so. He fell to his hands, breathing heavily. He could hear the creature sloshing up behind him, an eager rumble escaping its wide mouth.

"Quickly!"

The voice was hoarse, but human in nature. Talothin looked up to see a plated hand being offered to him. As he reached for it, time seemed to slow as the reflection of the orc in the guard's armor grew large, and raised its long weapon to strike out at the pair of them.

Without meaning to, as though he'd meant to reach for it in the first place, his fingers wrapped around the guard's sword.

In a flash Talothin had turned, on his feet now, the guard's sword in his hand. The orc took a step back, stunned at the gouge left in his chest armor.

Talothin didn't question his actions. He lunged towards the orc, slashing out again and forcing the warrior back two more paces. The orc's foot caught, and in the next moment he lay in the shallow river. Talothin' advance never broke, and in the next moment, Talothin leapt forward, driving the tip of the blade down into the monster's belly.

Blood spurted and the creature roared in pain. It twisted as it lay, throwing him down into the water with it. Sputtering, Talothin got unsteadily back onto his feet.

There was a lot of splashing behind him. The monster was getting up as well. He closed his hand tightly over the sword…

His hand was empty. The sword had gotten lost to him in the struggle. The creature roared behind him. His foot caught on something as he tried to turn. The weapon.

He grabbed it and spun around, thrusting with the movement. The spear had found its mark. The monster, tusked and slavering in its bloodlust had lunged for him just a second too late. The spear sank through its body as it's dead weight carried it toward Talothin. Talothin stepped aside, letting the creature fall face first into the river.

Now, time seemed to return him to the present. The orc lay, still managing to look impressive as blood slowly tainted the water around him. Talothin turned sluggishly to see the guard regarding him with the same wide eyed expression.

They stood for another moment, regarding one another in silence. Talothin noted the guard had his sword again. "Thanks for letting me borrow that," he said, somewhat stupidly.

The guard smiled weakly, nodding, "Where did you learn to…"

Talothin shook his head, "I haven't," he offered dumbly, still a bit stricken by his own actions.

The guard shook his head, not entirely believing what he saw. A loud bellow and the crash of steel brought the two out of their stupefaction. They turned to see that the orcs were being pressed off the Alliance side of the bank.

"Come on," the solider said, some strength returning to his tone, "we should get you back with the others."

Talothin followed the man towards the Abbey, which lay near the center of the valley. He saw other farmhands and villagers, some looking battered and distraught, others looking stoic and determined, bloody tools or weapons in their hands.

Talothin saw too Milly Osworth, the owner of the vineyard that lay east, across the river. The one wreathed in flame. He felt a pang of sorrow and sympathy, she had lost her livelihood as well as he, and many others of the farmhands here. However, now that he looked for the familiar faces, there were several who were missing.

He felt sick at the notion. He had run when he might have…if he had stayed at all…

The logical part of his mind shooed away the notion. If he had stayed, weaponless and disoriented, he would have died there with the others. There wasn't any difference to have been made by a farmhand in a battle with the orcs of Blackrock Mountain. For such they were. Away from the heat and the perils of the battle, he realized what it meant to have the orcs here, fighting so close to Stormwind. They had somehow traversed the mountains to the north, taking the kingdom by surprise.

There would have been no survival in a fight like that. The only recourse for anyone not a part of the Stormwind army was to run…wasn't it?

Yet here stood some of his fellow farmhands. True, there were faces among them that shared his thoughts exactly, and had done exactly what he had done. And yet…

There was Lyle Barker. His family stood a good way off, soot covered, but alive. He stood near some of the other guards, stained with soot and blood like himself. A gore soaked mallet was gripped in his hand, and his jaw was set tight.

Not far from him Janelle Daniels stood, alone. Tear tracks had cut their way deeply through the ash on her cheeks. She held two blood soaked sickles in steady hands, one of which seemed to have had a fair bit of the blade snap off at some point. Talothin didn't know her well; her husband Roy and herself had only moved to the valley at the start of the season, but he knew enough of them both to know that she wouldn't be standing here alone unless…

A grim resolve replaced the sickness as he looked at the others. Not a warrior among them, and yet they held weapons that had seen battle, and what was more, they had endured loss. They hadn't run. They had stood and fought, and taken orcs down before escaping here with those they could save. From what he judged of those he knew to be missing, they would have gone down fighting for their land and families. And by the way the survivors kept eyeing the marshal who was making his way towards them, they weren't done with the orcs yet.

And neither was he. They had burned farmland. They had slain innocents, common people with no bearing on their war with the Alliance. They had brought destruction to his homeland, and for that, he would not stand.

He just caught the last of the marshal's words to the group at large, "I know none of you signed up to be soldiers and fighters," he sighed, "but we're in over our heads here. We sent a runner to the Capital, but it will be some time before any help can arrive. The orcs are pressing their advantage." The marshal did not continue. He did not have to. All assembled saw the direness of the situation.

"Where did they come from?" Lyle asked, hefting his mallet.

"The recent quakes caused by the monstrosity that attacked Stormwind opened up a path between the mountains to the northeast. They came out of the Burning Steppes. As many of you no doubt know, they've managed to burn down nearly half the valley."  
The marshal continued, "We need all the help we can get. Those of you able and willing, report to Sergeant Willem for immediate orders."

The gathered did not hesitate nor did they deliberate. Nearly all of them began to move where the marshal had indicated, Talothin among them. As they did, he noticed the guard whose sword he had used accompanying them.

Their eyes met and the guard approached, "I'm with you, I owe you one."

Talothin offered a slight smile, "I think I owe you just as much, friend."

"Private Baldwynn, Stormwind Guard," he offered his hand.

"Talothin, Farmhand," he said, smiling and shaking hands with the man.

As they made their way to the far side of the Abbey, Talothin could see many more militia and guardsman already fighting. Orcs and wolves thrust themselves at the small silver line of defenders again and again. The line seemed to be holding out, which gave Talothin faint hope.

The sergeant was pointing and ordering groups of villagers and guards to different portions of the battlefield. As Talothin and Private Baldwynn approached, they were grouped with eight others by the local priest, Brother Paxton. He gave Talothin a look that was both sad and grateful, and moved on to continue grouping the others.

The sergeant approached the group. His bushy beard did little to hide the quaver in his jaw as he spoke, as he too bore the signs of fighting, "We've hit a stalemate, but we can't hold it. If you're willing, that line at the river is going to need reinforcements. They can't fight the orcs and protect survivors still crossing the river. My men will handle the orcs, but we need you to guide as many as you can across to safety. Every life we save here is one more the orcs didn't take."

"And one more to stand by us," Lyle said softly, for those few around him.

The sergeant went on, "Those of you who need gear, speak to Janos Hammerknuckle. He's been instructed to outfit any willing fighters." He pointed to a merchant cart that had until recently been only passing through the valley. It seemed the proprietor had set up a makeshift position nearby, complete with anvil and crude furnace.

Talothin made his way to the smithy, just as Lyle was being given a proper maul, with a stout oaken head.

Janos looked him up and down, "And what will it be for you, brave stranger?"

Talothin had never fought in his life, apart from his brief skirmish with the orc at the river. The array of assorted weapons was somewhat daunting.

However, the thought of his fight at the river gave him an idea.

"A spear," and upon consideration, "and a shield, if I can."

Janos nodded, "You'll be wanting these as well," handing Talothin a mail shirt and a short sword.

A short while later, Talothin was armed and armored, fitting the shirt under his own plain workman's tunic, and strapping the sword to his belt. He gripped the spear, testing it's weight. The stout wooden shield felt heavy in his other arm.

For a brief flash, the sickness returned to him. He was going to battle. Him, armed with weapons he'd only ever heard about in stories, fighting an enemy that had been so far removed from his life, they might have been imaginary. What was he doing?

 _'_ _Fighting and for those who yet live, and avenging those who did not.'_

The thought galvanized him at last, driving his remaining doubt from his mind. He met Adam's gaze with a steel determination.

"Come on, the group is preparing to move."

The reinforcing group bound for the river was headed by the deputy to the marshal himself, a man by the name of Willem. As they gathered to him, he explained how they were going to rush into holes in the lines of battle, two groups of five at a time, and search for survivors. When the group returned, the others would rush forward, clearing a path for their return. They would repeat this strategy until it became too perilous to continue.

Though not buoyant at the idea of charging past a raging battle, the gathered militia looked ready nonetheless.

At a signal from the sergeant, the group began it's quick march to the river. As they neared the near constant sounds of clashing weapons and screaming dead became sharper to them. Much too quickly, the river was in sight. Whereas before, the only body in the waterway had been that of the orc Talothin had killed, the water now was almost completely black and red with the blood of the fallen.

The deputy nodded, pointing out the first two groups. With varied cries and shouts they surged towards the river. The soldiers at the banks and in the water seemed to get the idea, and fought to widen any holes that existed. The orcs too seemed to realize what was going on, and fought to close those same gaps.

Yet they reacted too slowly. The groups made it through without confrontation, and in seconds had disappeared behind the wall of smoke that hid the desolated farmlands.

Relief filled Talothin. Their plan had worked. Only now did he face the twinges of doubt he had felt at the outset.

The orcs roared their frustrations, and one, a captain of some kind, began shouting wildly into the wall of smoke, gesturing at the river.

A wall of sound struck Talothin, making his breath falter. Over a score of orcs charged from the gloom of the wall. As the footmen of the Alliance were already struggling to hold their own against their current quarries, they were sure to be overwhelmed. Talothin looked to the deputy, expecting the order to charge in to support the soldiers. Together, their force nearly equaled that of the orcs. They would be sure to turn the tide back to even footing.

However, the deputy did not move. Though his face was set in a grim mask, he made no move to call for support.

The bottom of Talothin' stomach seemed to fall out. Looking back to the river, he saw the orcs crash into the line of men and watched several footmen fall almost at once. The fury of their charge seemed to take the battle to a nearly unfathomable pitch as the soldiers fought to hold their ground.

Lyle took a few steps forward, his eyes locked on the combat unfolding before him.

"Hold your ground, soldier!" the deputy shouted, "We'll die if we joined that melee. None of you have the experience to weather a full orc assault!"

As he shouted this, another man fell. Talothin saw that his chest had been rent, like a sack of grain.

"If we volunteered to just sit and watch, I'll be damned!" Lyle shouted, his eyes not leaving the furious struggle taking place some yards from them.

There were several murmurs of agreement at this, Talothin among them.

"We have a job to do, don't go—" the deputy began, but before he could finish, Lyle took off towards the conflict. He wasn't alone. Janelle and Talothin were right on his heels, and a second later, half the group and charged forwards.

Talothin almost felt apprehension that they were going with so few. But again, that voice in his head came calmly to him.

 _'_ _You are not alone. There is hope yet.'_

He rushed on, drawing level with Lyle. They would have victory. The Blackrock would know defeat.

The line of reinforcements rammed into the battle line. Talothin gave a mighty thrust between a fallen warrior and his brutish assailant. The spear sank into the orcs gut, freezing his greedy smile upon his face. Hammering the body with his shield, he thrust out again with his freed weapon at another orc.

His opponent made to parry, but did so badly, catching the point along his side. Grunting, he stepped backward a pace. The warrior Talothin had defended came up on his right, swinging past his spear. The orc fell, it's face a ruin.

Catching a rush of black off to his left side, he instinctively raised his shield. What felt like a bull collided with the barrier, knocking Talothin into the river. Sputtering, he twisted to his feet as quickly as he could. The blow had dazed him, and he registered that he was more sluggish that was necessary.

He whirled to face what he was sure to be his deathblow, to see the orc falling to its knees, Adam wrenching his sword from its throat. He just registered the blatant shock in Adam's eyes. A sharp pain wracked his side and the world went black.

When Talothin woke, he did so with a start, his hand flying to his side. His ribs ached there, and his muscles burned slightly, but as he felt his skin there, all he could detect of his apparent injury was a long, crisp scar.

He stared around, seeing that he lay in some building that rang vaguely familiar to him. He shook his head, attempting to clear the fog of unconsciousness. He was shorn to the waist, and his borrowed spear leaned against the wall at the foot of the cot he was lying in. As he gathered his senses, he recognized the decorative pattern tile of the Abbey at the center of Northshire.

He stood shakily, his senses and stability returning to him in degrees. A light hand touched his shoulder.

"You've nearly recovered, take it gently." The voice was of a woman he did not recognize, soft and serene. He looked up to see it belonged to a slight, slender figure with bright blue eyes and golden hair bound in a braid. He didn't recognize her as a regular at the abbey, but then he took in her royal blue tabard.

"They…sent you from Stormwind?" he asked, his aches receding more and more as he spoke.

The woman nodded, "They tell me you were one of the volunteers who ventured into the river, to save those still trapped in the eastern part of the valley. That was courageous of you."

Talothin smiled slightly, standing more upright now that the pain had nearly gone. As it did, he noticed the defining feature of the woman that he should have noticed at the very beginning. Her ears were long and pointed, each extending nearly ten inches.  
She caught his stare and smiled, "I get that reaction quite a bit."

Talothin shook himself, "I apologize, I didn't mean to— "

She held up a hand, "Not at all. My people are few and far between. Many think us quite extinct."

Talothin nodded. Suddenly, he felt a rush, "The battle!"

"Is going well. Your work reinforcing the soldiers at the river helped us push the orcs from that front. That front is now secure."

Talothin nodded, "How many made it back?"

Her light elven features, gentle and warm up to now, became sad as her shoulders slumped slightly, "Two…including you…" she said softly.

Talothin closed his eyes, "There was a guard, a private, his name..."

"Is Baldwynn," she said, warmth returning to her tone, "he only just left to speak with Brother Samuel about something pressing."

Talothin nodded, relief filling him, and guilt immediately following suit. He felt shame at his slow recognition of those others who had died in the process. He felt a pang of pain as faces swam into memory…

The touch again found his shoulder. He looked to see sympathy in her eyes, "War claims many lives. It would have claimed a great deal more if they had not done what they did. I'm sorry for your grief."

Talothin nodded his thanks, unable to quite find a response. Metallic ringing on polished stone drew their attention. Baldwynn, helmet under his arm approached. It had occurred to Talothin he had never seen the warrior's face until this point. He was strong of jaw, and his shoulder length brown hair was bound in a tail. He bore no outward signs of injury, but Talothin just caught a slight limp as he approached.

His face broke into a wide smile to see him standing. Talothin returned the gesture, nodding, "You made it."

Adam cocked an eyebrow, "For a time, it seemed you might not. That slash was deep…" his face fell a little.

Talothin shrugged but winced as he did so.

The aches had not left him entirely. The priestess gave a slight bow to Adam, "I have you to thank as well, sir knight. Your actions at the river have saved all these lives, and a great deal more."

Color rose slightly in the soldier's cheeks, "Knight…the Lady flatters me, but I'm merely—"

"A sergeant, and a damned fine one at that," came a strident voice from across the circular hall, "consider yourself promoted Baldwynn, effective immediately."

It was the marshal from the courtyard who spoke. Janelle and Lyle stood at his shoulders, each wearing tabards to match that of the priestess'.

Adam stood dumbstruck for a moment before croaking, "T-Thank you, Marshal McBride."

The marshal gave a curt nod and looked to Talothin, "I know you didn't ask for this fight, that you were never a part of the army, but I've got a tabard for you, and the rank of corporal under Baldwynn if you want it. We need every brave sword we can get our hands on right now. Lyle and Janelle have both accepted, you'd be fighting alongside them. You three alone made it back from the river. I saw enough of the carnage. You fought well in terrifying odds and we'd be proud to have you."

Talothin was accepting the tabard without conscious effort. The soft silken cloth inlaid with gold felt comforting under his hands.

The marshal gave a sharp salute and departed, leaving the five in some silence.

Adam was the first to break it, "Sergeant…" he shook his head.

Lyle smiled, "Congratulations."

Adam nodded his thanks and looked back to Talothin, who smiled in turn, "I'll follow you to Blackhand himself, friend. You saved my life, more than once."

Adam smiled at last and turned to leave with the other two. Nicholas set about donning his upper clothes and armor, gingerly pulling his new tabard over the borrowed mail shirt. Strapping his sword to his side, be bowed to the priestess and departed, shield in hand. It was only now, stepping into the bright sunlight shining through the trees that he noticed his shield had a deep gash running across its face.

He nodded. His scar and that on his shield would stand as reminders. He must be more careful in future fights.

Adam and the others were standing with a large cluster of fighters circling what looked to be a table covered in charts and documents. Talothin approached and understood that it was a sensitive discussion, as several higher-ranking figures scrutinized him before nodding.

"…I don't know how else to push them back. With most of the Legions either abroad or in worse cases, stranded, we can't sustain a fight through that canyon. It has to be closed."

"But marshal, if we were to push them back, it would be a direct avenue to—"

"Blackrock Mountain, yes I know lieutenant commander, but we don't have the forces to strike out at Blackhand from here. He's already pushing farther and farther into Redridge from the north, and unlike us, he is working from a place of consolidated strength. We are merely reacting to his attack; we do not have the means to mount any sort of counter-invasion."

There were scattered murmurs of mixed qualities. It seemed many of the fighters were spoiling for revenge. Thinking of his now desolated home, Talothin thought their wants justified. Yet, as he thought this, the voice came back, gentle but firm.

 _Avenging your home will not restore lives, it will consume them. Answering violence with greater violence leads to a path of misery for both sides._

'They would deserve that misery. They slaughtered innocents…'

 _Can you say that there will not be those innocents among their kind? Have you slain naught but guilty orcs this day?_

Shame rose in his face. The small voice had a point. These orcs hailed from the Searing Gorge and the Burning Steppes lands not known for their hospitality or their fertility. Though Rend and his ilk were cruel and violent, he was the leader of a people trapped in a volcanic peak. Surely, the fertile and plentiful lands of men seemed the answer to his populace's probable plight. Perhaps some fought for slaughter. Surely the one who had chased him into the river had. But some might have fought, may be fighting, for families, for little ones, and for causes much beyond anything his pursuer could have understood.

 _No race is wholly evil, as no race is wholly good._

That was true, 'Look at the Defias', he mused. The thieving gangsters were at a fraction of their former strength due to the acts of several hero's years ago, but still, they plundered, murdered and stole from simple farm folk. 'Like I had been.' There had been a time where they caused terror akin to the sort this invasion had caused. The Defias were no better than the Blackrock raiders in this valley. Yet, they were not all bad. Talothin had heard that towards the end of their days of power, some of the thieves had moved to help the Alliance bring the guild down from within. He had also heard tell of orcs with honor in their hearts. Thrall had been rumored to be one such orc, and indeed he had acted with restraint where many of his kind would have gladly flattened the Alliance.

His eyes found the peaks that hid Blackrock Mountain from view. Surely, somewhere in those lands, there were orcs who mourned the actions of their kind. Who maybe even regretted them.

 _Understanding is the first step on the path to true wisdom._

Talothin nodded, looking back at his fellows and superiors in arms. Many eyes showed hunger for orcish blood. The sight saddened him, as he felt that he could never hunger the way they did. His gaze found Lyle, stoic as ever. His eyes held stony acceptance, but not hunger. He did not lust for blood.

The thought gladdened Talothin. But then, his eyes found Janelle. Her eyes burned with the fury and sorrow of loss beyond his comprehension. She hungered. She lusted.

 _Do not judge her harshly, for her loss is beyond your conception. Guide her, that her fires may be used for righteous and true causes._

'I will keep her from the edge,' Talothin vowed to his voice, 'she will not go the way of Blackhand or the Defias. Together, we shall keep other mothers from burying their children, other lovers from parting.'

He felt a flood of molten conviction in his chest. For the first time in his memory, his chest seemed to burn with a fire, a cry for action, for justice. He felt the call to battle throughout his body, penetrating his every nerve.

He found the eyes of those who lusted for blood. Like them, he burned, but not for death and destruction. He burned to prevent that, to protect those who had not yet met the fate of his friends and neighbors. He would fight and fight hard. But his fight would be to guarantee peace for those who yet lived, and those who had fallen. He was with them in purpose, but apart from them in desire. The notion saddened him slightly and yet gave him a great sense of duty. He would be the hand of wisdom and mercy here.

 _And thus, I have chosen you, champion_


End file.
